


To comprehend a nectar

by middlemarch



Category: Mercy Street (TV)
Genre: Angst, Conversation, F/M, Fluff, Romance, Short & Sweet, Vignettes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-25 20:04:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17127863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/middlemarch/pseuds/middlemarch
Summary: Success is counted sweetest...five ways.





	1. Chapter 1

1\. “You’re sweet,” Jed muttered against her lips. The kiss had begun softly, as he would have grazed her temple as she worked at her mathematics or the household accounts, her brow furrowed if she were repairing the seam at the collar of the shirt he liked best on a Sunday. Softly-- and then they were swept away, his hand at her cheek, hers at his neck, compelling him to her. She felt dazed when he broke away, barely able to understand his words, listening only to his tone, the meaning coming to her like the awareness of a dream.

“I took honey with my tea,” she replied.

“It’s not that. It’s you,” he said, a little brusque, a little breathless. “You’re my heart’s delight.” 

Mary felt herself blush, heard Jedediah laugh. The sound was sweeter than the honey, as sweet as his kiss, as his voice calling her name in the night.


	2. Chapter 2

2\. “You’re sweet,” Emma said, taking the cluster of violets Henry offered her. He’d wrapped them in a twist of paper, so their wet stems wouldn’t muss her hand.

“You deserve better—rubies and diamonds. Roses. Everything,” Henry said. So serious, his dark blue eyes watching her, glancing at the nosegay in her hand. She thought of a ruby parure in a satin-lined case, of a broach shaped like a heart, flecked with diamonds. A garden full of fragrant roses, white and red, a war resolved, the buzz of the happy bees.

“This is better than everything,” Emma replied. Oh, how he blushed to hear her! What a dear he was and how her mother would hate him, his poor violets, his modest means, his earnest Yankee ways!

“You’re too kind,” he said.

“No, I’m not. I’m a selfish girl, Belinda will tell you it’s so,” Emma said.

“I don’t believe you,” Henry said. She knew he told the truth. He believed better of her and it was the greatest blessing, to rise to his estimation.


	3. Chapter 3

3\. “You’re sweet,” Anne said sharply. “A sweet, blasted dullard of a fool—Byron! You thought should I should be satisfied by this? This, this second-hand straw bonnet, with twice turned ribbons?”

“Anne, my own!” Byron exclaimed. His heart wasn’t in it—she’d caught him out. The bonnet must be Mary’s cast-off, otherwise he would argue with her. She turned the millinery in her hand; the brim was wide, well plaited, the silk that lined it a rich mulberry. She preferred feathers to flowers but there was a respectable spray of blossom at the right side, where the ribbons trailed and nothing was frayed, no darns visible. She could add feathers, a bantam’s worth, when the fighting let up. She’d look quite fine on Alexandria’s main avenue, the plumes nodding in the sun.

“Don’t be presumptuous, Byron,” Anne said, but as kindly, as he deserved. He smiled, which suited him. He would sing to her tonight, she knew, and that was the best of him—his lovely tenor in the night, his palm flat against her belly. He never said a word if she wept.


	4. Chapter 4

4\. “You’re sweet,” Belinda said. George beamed at her and opened his arms. There was work to be done—the stew needed seasoning, the biscuit was due to come out. The table was bare, the crockery drying streaky in the air. She walked toward him, felt him put his arms around her.

“Sweet, sweet man,” she murmured. The biscuit wouldn’t burn in a moment, the stew might take its salt as she dished it out. He didn’t have to wait.


	5. Chapter 5

5\. “You’re sweet,” Charlotte said slowly.

“No, I’m not. I’m determined. I’ll wait. Until you’re ready,” Samuel replied. His expression was steady, patient. Eager. His hands rested on the back of a chair lightly. She couldn’t feel them at her waist or her shoulders, at her throat.

“If that time never comes?” Charlotte asked. She asked him but she meant to ask herself, except she didn’t want to know the answer.

“Then waiting will become our companionship. You will never be less to me, even if you never want to be more,” Samuel said.

“You have a silver tongue!” Charlotte laughed.

“No, I’m an honest man. An honest freedman. And I’ll never take what’s not offered. I’ll never reproach you for being a sovereign soul,” he said. She was in love with him and he terrified her.

“How about a sweet cake? Belinda left some. She’s a light hand with pastry and Mary gives her plenty for sugar syrup,” Charlotte said.

“Sounds good. If you’ll share it with me,” Samuel said.

“Share it? I’ll have my own. We’ve enough,” Charlotte replied. Samuel smiled broadly, sat down and waited to take a bit until she had. Belinda hadn’t stinted on the sugar, nor the vanilla and lemon. Charlotte tasted sunshine, spring. She tasted Samuel’s pleasure as he ate, as he watched her. It was their first meal alone.

**Author's Note:**

> A little holiday treat in five parts, as fluffy as can be.
> 
> Title from Emily Dickinson.


End file.
